


Just Like Winnie the Pooh

by yesmsmoran (elliedew)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crude Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, brief mentions of self-harm, burrowing gnomes, ew factor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:20:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliedew/pseuds/yesmsmoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets his gigantic upper half stuck while on a hunt with Dean. Now they have to wait for help and hope it doesn't come too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another kinkmeme fill. Hope you enjoy.

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ORIGINAL JOURNAL ENTRY WRITTEN BY Bailey Morgan **WITH ADDENDUM BY SAMUEL WINCHESTER**

PROCEED WITH CAUTION! Burrowing Gnomes are carnivorous! Their bite is toxic and often used to incapacitate prey so they can kill and eat them. If you are bitten, seek immediate medical attention! They have been known to take down bears and cows twelve times their size!

**Burrowing gnomes vary in size from six to nine inches in height with large potato shaped heads, small black eyes and two rows of sharp razor like teeth. The females can reach twelve to fourteen inches tall and they can burrow up to one hundred feet a day in large numbers. The average natural life span of a male burrower is three years, the females can live up to eight and birth four to eight pups every four months. A Nest can house more than one female. The largest nest said to have existed was fifteen females and after a heavy rain was said to have caused a sink hole over one mile deep and half a mile wide to open up in Southern Ontario.  
**  
They prefer to burrow in public parks and on or near golf courses because of the abundance of food left around by humans. They are often mistaken for gophers and ground hogs, but they are five times more destructive.

Do not enter a Burrow while it is raining! They are notorious for collapsing in on themselves!

The burrows themselves are sometimes immense. Hive like they wind and interconnect in every direction. Small air vents are present, giving the structure the appearance of Swiss Cheese. The Central Nest, where the females mate and birth and house their young is usually at the center of the hive with a direct vent to the surface. Females have very little maternal instinct and when a burrow is overrun often abandon their young completely. If there are pregnant females they will not abandon the nest and will instead fight viciously against the invaders.

The female Burrower’s bite is highly toxic! It will cause infection and without proper treatment the wound will necrotize and the bacteria spread. They are highly aggressive and will attack you if they feel threatened!

The males are docile but inquisitive and will not attack unless prompted by their females or pressured by invaders.

Burrowing Gnomes naturally have a toxin in their saliva, when bitten the wound will swell, making it difficult to clean and properly treat. Someone who is bitten will experience violent fever, hallucinations, and sometimes temporary paralysis, loss of consciousness and or seizures depending on the severity and number of bites. Without treatment the infection can spread and possibly cost you a limb or your life.

Burrowing Gnomes will kill and eat you if given the chance! Do not go into a burrow alone!

Burrowing Gnomes are surprisingly easy to kill, no special considerations need to be made. They are also highly allergic to aspirin and will die within an hour of ingesting it.

The Burrowing Gnome’s bone structure is similar to that of a human. Large paddle like feet and hands evolved especially for digging and grabbing. The bones of their skulls are weak while their arms and legs and backs are strong. Their large heads make it difficult for them to swim so drowning is an option and burning works just as well. Common Rat poison works quickly on males, but females will not eat it.

Aspirin tablets hidden in marshmallows work the best for non-invasive extermination of burrows, if the central air vent can be found. Some Burrowers however can detect the chemical smell of the aspirin and will not eat it, in this case burrow invasion is the only option.

**Burrowing gnomes are also highly sexualized. Males become aroused very easily and while attacking you some will become confused and try to mount you in any available orifice. In short, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT WHILE DEALING WITH THEM!  
**  
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Bailey Morgan was a short dumpy ‘ex-hunter’ with one arm. He had only ever met Bobby Singer once and he’d been drunk as a skunk at the time and kept calling the older man ‘Billy’.

Bobby thought he was dumb as shit on a cracker but when one hunter called for help you helped.

Bailey called on a Tuesday to say that he’d found a nest of burrowing gnomes in a public park while walking his dog.

Bobby asked, quite plainly, if his dog happened to have a barrel and shit bullets. Since Bailey didn’t answer Bobby thought he’d hit it on the nose, Bailey didn’t know when to quit it seemed, losing his arm hadn’t slowed him down more as pissed him off and given him an impressive story to spread around and make himself feel important.

But, he did seem to have found burrowing gnomes that hadn’t taken the bag of marshmallows, so to speak and while the males weren’t particularly aggressive unless you attacked them first, they did have a tendency to burrow quite vigorously and as soon as it rained you had a big sink hole on your hands, which could potentially kill someone. That and the females bite is very poisonous. Bobby had seen hunters loose fingers to them. Good thing there was usually only one or two females to a normal sized nest. The growth of cities prevented them from getting too big now. The males were like bees, smaller and stupider than shit. They’ll bite you if prompted but their main focus is sex or burrowing neither one of which is pleasant.

Bobby was tempted to call someone closer to Bailey’s location, but felt spiteful enough to call Sam instead. Would serve them right for making such a mess of his couch last month; He was still tempted to drag it outside and burn it.

Dean answered the phone, said Sam was in the shower and Bobby gave him a quick rundown.

“Gnomes? Seriously? Like those statues people put in their yards?”

“No, gnomes like the earth elementals… Nasty toothy bastards with beady black eyes and heads shaped like yams. They’ve got claws like moles and spend all day digging tunnels. People mistake them for gophers all the time. They love golf courses and public parks because they can find food in garbage cans to feed their young. They’re incredibly destructive and like to steal things when they can to use as breeding privilege.”

“Breeding privilege?”

“Yeah, whoever brings the female the prettiest or tastiest thing gets the right to—“ He clears his throat.

“Nasty,” Dean sounds amused.

“Their bite is poisonous, causes hallucinations and fever. But the bacteria in the female’s mouths can make your skin rot off so if you get bit by one get it seen immediately.”

“Make your skin rot off… got it. How can you tell which ones are female?”

“They’re taller for one… and they tend to run around naked.”

“Okay… How do you kill ‘em?”

“Nothing special, you can drown them, smash them or burn them. They’re like rats. The females give birth to three to six in a litter and within two months they’re up and digging. They can have up to six litters in a year if they’re real keen on breeding, so—“

“Jesus… So, just smash ‘em and hope you don’t get bit in any important places?”

“Pretty much.”

It takes Sam and Dean five hours to get to Bailey Morgan and when they climb out of the car he’s waiting for them.

He is exactly how they pictured him. Bug eyed, grinning, with a faded John Deere cap on his head, the empty right sleeve of his flannel rolled up and pinned over his stump. He shakes both of their hands roughly and Dean thinks the guy’s doing it purposefully because he’s met men stronger and bigger than this guy who don’t shake hands that hard.

Sam rubs his shoulder when the guy turns away and starts leading them off toward where he found the nest.

“It’s a big one… The entrance is under a rock and the air vents are all over th’place. I s’pect there to be four, maybe five females. Might be more ‘an one hive of ‘em using the same exit… You two bring a weapon?”

Sam had a flat shovel with a short handle, both of them had plenty of matches and lighter fluid and Dean displayed his steel toed boots with a flourish. Sam had a feeling he just thought it was fun to be able to stomp the shit out of tiny monsters instead of having to go about it in an elaborate way, but of course, Dean had a pellet gun stuck in the waistband of his pants and a jar of cone nosed lead pellets along with extra compressed air cylinders in his pocket. Sam thought Dean and Bailey Morgan may try to out ‘badass’ one another and wind up getting hurt, but it sure would be fun to watch.

Bailey had his dog, a short nosed revolver and a pocket full of bullets that rattled when he walked. “You ‘kin also poison ‘em with run of the mill rat poison or aspirin. Little fuckers die if they eat aspirin, like cats, but I tried that already and they didn’t buy it. So we gotta go in after ‘em.”

Dean winces and fingers the matchbox in his pocket. “There a clinic nearby?”

“Better than that, my sister’s waitin’ to clean up yer booboos back in town. She’s a registered nurse.”

“Your sister?”

“Yup, you’ll like her,” He winks and Sam rolls his eyes.

The hike up to the burrow entrance is longer than Sam expected and Bailey keeps chattering away as they walk about different hunts he’d been on in his younger days and the incident that left him minus an arm.

Bailey insists it was a hellhound, Bobby said it was a Rottweiler with the mange that some witch had set on him. _“Took four bullets to put the thing down and a pry-bar to get its mouth open… Dumb bastard’s arm was tore up somethin’ awful, doctors wound up amputating.”_ Sam thought that was the end of it… until he actually met Bailey Morgan himself. The man was bat shit insane, that was for sure. Of course, you had to be a little crazy to do this kind of job.

Dean had listened to the story with his eyebrows up and to hear it from Morgan himself you’d think it was two different incidents. Where Bobby had told the story in three or four sentences, so far Bailey had been talking for fifteen minutes, five of which so far were describing the sound of the dog’s teeth on his arm bone, or that his arm had only been hanging on by veins and gristle when the ‘Thing’ was done with him. That he’d tied the stump off with his boot laces and hiked back into town. He shook his head and said that his hunting partner, a sharpshooter he called ‘Bullet’ McShawnessy, had pissed himself and screamed like a woman trying to shoot the damned thing.

“Took nine bullets!” Bailey said with a shake of his head; “After that ‘Bullet’ seemed kinda ridiculous, so everyone just started calling him Eugene.”

Dean snorted.

The burrow entrance/exit is under a rocky overhang. To an untrained eye it looked like your run-of-the-mill gopher hole, surrounded by little dried brown turds to ward off foxes. There was a disgusting, ammonia/vinegar/old-dog-piss smell coming from the hole and Dean turned his head, cheeks puffed out in disgust. “Peachy.”

Sam elbowed him.

Bailey Morgan crouched down and stuck his head in the hole. “Yup! S’wide enough to crawl in… Just gotta open the door!” He hauled himself back to his feet stepped back a few paces and started kicking, enlarging the hole enough that he could fit his head and shoulders in. He wiggled around a little, like a pig with his ass in the air, rubbing his sides along the rim of the hole to enlarge it. Dean tried not to watch him and Sam cleared his throat, indicating his shovel.

Bailey gave him a blank look, climbed to his feet knocking dirt from his clothes and made a flourishing hand gesture, allowing the younger man to carve the ‘door’ wide enough for them to crawl through.

Bailey twisted his John Deere hat backward, produced a head lamp from one of his innumerable pockets stuck it on, squatted down and squeezed himself into the tunnel; “Stick close!” He shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared inside.

Sam and Dean eyed one another, lifted their fists and ‘rock-paper-scissor’ed their way to a decision.

Dean cursed under his breath and crouched; “Great, I get to crawl down a stinky Gnome hole with my face in some sweaty fat-man’s ass.”

Sam snorted; “Oh? I get to take up the rear, behind not one, but two sweaty ball sacks with my face in YOUR ass after you ate WHAT exactly for breakfast?”

Dean snorted; “You’ve had your face in my ass before and you didn’t complain—“

Sam gives him an unimpressed scowl and Dean wags a finger at him grinning.

“Oh, that’s a new one!” He ducks into the hole and starts crawling.

Bailey Morgan’s silhouette is about ten feet in front of them, pausing every so often to shine his headlamp back and forth checking down side tunnels.

Sam is tempted, just for the hell of it, to lean forward and leave a bite mark on Dean’s left ass cheek, but thinks better of it as they pass under an air vent and something drops onto Dean’s back. Sam sees it briefly in the bar of sunlight and his blood runs cold.

It’s not a gnome, not anything supernatural, but it is hairy, does have eight legs, and a number of black shiny eyes.

Sam speaks without really meaning to; “Spider.”

Dean turns his head and scowls into the darkness behind him; “What?”

Sam’s face is pale looking in the sunlight from the air vent, ghostly and Dean sees his brother lift a hand and point at his back. Dean doesn’t see anything until it moves and he can see the shadow of it cutting away the brightness falling across Sam’s face.

Dean rolls like an alligator, snarling and swatting at his hair.

Bailey Morgan ducks his head and watches from between spread knees, laughs like a maniac and says; “It’s just a fuckin’ Wolf Spider!”

And THAT just gives Dean a mental image of exactly what’s on his back and he starts thrashing more violently, bangs his head against a rock sticking out of the tunnel wall and backs his ass right up into Sam’s face, practically crawling under his brother in an attempt to kill the spider.

Sam laughs, puts both hands flat on Dean’s behind and shoves him forward; “It’s gone. It’s gone!”

Dean, for all he complains of Sam’s bitchfaces, has quite a few of his own and gives Sam one in the light of Bailey Morgan’s headlamp.

“Ladies?” Bailey asks, still chuckling; “’kin we continue now?”

Dean mutters something about fuckin’ gnomes and they keep crawling.

The tunnel slopes perpetually downward and twice Bailey pauses and calls back between his legs; “We’re getting’ close! You’kin smell’em!”

Dean had thought it was just Morgan’s sweaty balls until he put his hand down on a fresh gnome turd, “What? Awww—“ Hegroaned his disgust and rubbed his hand clean on his soiled leg of his jeans. “Remind me to thank Bobby for this.”

It was then Sam felt it. A sharp tug on the cuff of his jeans. He ignored it at first, thinking he’d just caught it on something… But then he felt it again. “Wait a minute…”

Bailey’s headlamp appeared between his legs again, Dean’s head bowed and he watched as Sam slumped onto his side momentarily, shovel hugged to his chest, pulled out the keychain flashlight he’d taken to carrying, and shined it down past his feet.

Beady black eyes reflected red and blue and green back at him… Dozens of them.

One of the gnomes had hold of Sam’s pant cuff. It blinked and gave another rough tug with its clawed fingers.

Dean could see the eyes reflecting back past his brother’s bulk, Bailey Morgan could not.

“If it’s another spider I’m gonna leave y’all two pussies right here!” Bailey said loudly.

“Will these things attack unprovoked?” Sam says, trying to remain calm.

“No… Only the females do that. The males is dumbmer than rocks… Why?”

Sam swallowed a knot in his throat and said in a carefully controlled voice; “No reason.”

Every so often as they continued down the tunnel, regularly turning to take a side branch, or a larger off shoot, or pause to rest in a domed, room like cavern scattered with old plastic candy wrappers and half rotted chicken and animal bones, Sam would catch reflecting eyes glinting at him from the other holes carved into the walls. Would be able to hear the padding of hand like feet, or an almost squirrel like chattering as the gnomes communicated.

After almost an hour and a half of crawling, they stopped in one such large chamber at the zenith of which there was an air vent. Dean was complaining quietly about his knees and back. Bailey was giggling stupidly and Sam was taking the moment to stretch as many of his cramped muscles as he could. It had obviously started raining outside because there was water dripping in from various little holes in the ceiling and walls, forming little muddy lakes in the middle of the floor and Sam was anxious to get this over with before the whole structure collapsed on them.

Sam shone his light back and forth taking in their surroundings, expanding the mental report he was preparing, adding to what they already knew about Burrowing Gnomes from the running lecture Bailey was giving them.

They were smart creatures. Could be harmless if you didn’t bother them, but were inherently destructive. The tunnels surrounding them and annexed rooms seemed to go on for miles, and according to Bailey Morgan, the gnomes had only been here a little less than six months.

There were rocks excavated from the walls stacked up systematically around the perimeter of the room, some stones professionally blocking off certain tunnels and Sam imagined himself in a miniature coal mine. He tilted his water bottle up toward his mouth and noticed Bailey and Dean had gone very still and were staring at a place just over his shoulder with intent, calculating expressions. Bailey had one hand on the butt of his gun.

Sam held his breath, tried not to move and tilted his eyes toward the spot, knowing even before he saw it that they had found the heart of the Gnome burrow.

There was a grotesquely misshapen tumor of a head sticking out of a small ‘window’ into the larger room. The skin was paler, almost bluish instead of static leathery brown like the males, covered in dark black course bristles like boar hair. The face, if it could be called a face, was long and almost snake like, large lips were rolled back from needle like crooked yellow teeth tipped in some wax or black tar.

The gnome was larger than the others, nose slits opening and closing as it breathed, breath fetid like a sick animal’s and six saggy wrinkled breasts hung from its torso, like a beagle with an aggressive litter.

It was staring right at Dean and the bag of M&Ms in his hand.

Its jaws parted teeth clicking together wetly, chomping at the air and Sam’s eyes turned to his brother, noticed what was crawling out of a tunnel near his right hand and felt every little hair on his body stand on end.

There was another , larger, female hanging out of one window like air vent reaching for Dean’s power-snack, yellow drool dripping from one corner of its grotesquely wide mouth long spindly spidery limbs uncurling, arachnid fingers reaching for the yellow package with lust in beady dark eyes.

No, not pleasant.

The female hovering over Dean’s shoulder made a beastly growling, hissing noise, snatched the package away and lunged back into its hole like a baboon running away with someone’s purse.

Dean barked out in surprise and instinctually swiped at it, snarled, managed to grab one leg and that was the end of the quiet, peaceful crawl into the gnome’s burrow.

The captive female released a feline like shriek and lumpy brown bodies dropped out of every hole in the walls, rushing forward with fat wide shovel like hands opened wide, mouths and teeth glistening wetly as they made for the humans, grotesquely long genitals flapping nearly to their fat tough feet.

It seemed to Sam that the stupid males considered any kind of excitement as EXCITEMENT because half of them were sporting erections as they attacked, swarming them like bees. Sam was terrified, insulted and disgusted in the same instant and swung his shovel indiscriminately, smashing heads left and right.

While their hands and arms and knees and backs were incredibly strong a gnome’s head was surprisingly soft, the bones thin and easily crushed. Males were not made for thinking, only for digging and moving earth and fucking—they were well equipped for the fucking Sam noticed—and as heads cracked open like eggs Sam noticed his brother stomping on everything in his sight, yanking little bodies off himself and throwing them hard under his boots, spinning and slamming his back against the walls—Sam didn’t notice anything was amiss until the first clumps of dirt were raining down on him and by then it was too late.

Bailey Morgan shouted and dove head first into the nearest large tunnel following the retreating gnomes, Dean slipped and fell in squishy gnome brains and Sam yanked him up by the collar and practically threw him into another tunnel. He slithered in behind his brother just as the chamber behind them collapsed in on itself dragging tons of wet earth and a fucking oak tree so big Sam wouldn’t have been able to wrap his arms around it into the newly created sink hole.

Dean was crawling— scurrying really— blindly forward in the darkness mumbling curses under his breath and hissing at bites on his legs and arms. “Are they all poison?”

“The males can cause fever and hallucinations but not necrotizing fasciitis.”

“Necrotizing fascists?”

Sam rolled his eyes; “Fasciitis! Flesh eating bacteria… It’s only present in the female’s saliva… Did you get bit by one?”

“I don’t know… I got bit a few times but I don’t know if it was one of the girl ones, I was a little too preoccupied fighting them off to see if they had tits.”

Sam focused on his extremities as they made their way forward; “Same here… Where’s Morgan?”

“He took a different hole,” Dean gaged and spat a few times; “Fuckin things kept tryin’ to shove their dicks in my mouth!”

Sam snorted.

Dean kicked back at him; “Shut up, it’s your fault!”

“My fault! What—How is it MY FAULT!”

“You’re the one who wanted to stop!”

“Excuse me if I got tired of smelling your sweaty ass! And Tacos, Dean? Really? Tacos for breakfast?”

“It’s the gnomes!”

“It’s the tacos!”

Dean kicked back at him again and Sam acted on instinct, caught his brother’s leg and pulled, lunged forward and flattened himself across Dean’s back, pinning him to the dirt.

“STOP KICKIN’ ME IN THE FACE!”

Dean thrashed; “I almost got face fucked by a goddamned GNOME because of you!”

They rolled across the chamber grappling with one another until finally Sam got hold of his wrists and pinned them behind his back, forcing his head down into the dirt, legs pinning Dean’s into place and then—

“Ladies, Ladies… Really? Have we stooped so low?” Bailey Morgan’s voice echoed out of an adjacent tunnel and Sam turned his head in shock spying the man’s headlamp peeking out of one of the tiny windows higher up in their small chamber.

Dean bucked up and back, knocking Sam off him.

Sam’s head bounced roughly off a rock and he rolled onto his back holding his scalp and grimacing.

Dean narrowed his eyes; “Where'd you come from?"?”

“Followed the tunnels… They’re all interconnected…. Dumb as rocks, what’d I tell ya?” He nodded his head back the way he’d come and said in a proud voice; “I found the nursery back here… Gonna light it up in a second. They keep the nursery at the very center of the hives…. All blocked off by rocks ‘cept the air vents unless it’s breeding season… They got it blocked off now to pratect’ the pregnant females an shit… This whole place’s gonna cave in soon, rain’s really picked up… I suggest y’all two find a way out real quick and smash any of the fuckers that escape. I gotta way out… Meet ya back at the cars,” And off he went on his three limbs like a fucking dachshund after a badger. His head reappeared a few seconds later, face serious; “You always let him ride you like that, boy? Don’t get me wrong or nuthin’, I ain’t discriminatin ‘gainst your life choices but,” He made a face. “Kinda de-masculatin’ idin’t it? Like you’re the girl or sumthin’!” He gave his head a shake and disappeared again.

Dean thought it strangely irritating that Bailey Morgan would make THAT comment instead of the obvious; ‘But you’re BROTHERS’ disgust. He and Sam had very nearly given Bobby a heart attack when he’d walked in on them weeks ago. The older hunter had gone extremely pale and his legs had gone out from under him, dropping him to sit with a loud WHUMP in the floor with a hand on his chest staring while Dean tried to throw Sam off of him and yank his jeans back up.

Dean hadn’t really had a problem with their arrangement before then. If he wanted to sleep with a guy it was because he wanted to be spread out like a fucking buffet, if he wanted to do the penetrating he might as well just sleep with some chick. He’d never really thought twice about whose dick went where between him and Sam. He’d be the first to admit Sam was better hung, the kid was six-four, things were proportional, okay? Dean had nothing to be ashamed about, he liked what he liked. And Sam had learned more than law at Stanford, his baby brother learned how to fuck and he put that knowledge to damned good use.

Dean let out a hefty sigh; “I think I hate that son of a bitch.”

Sam chuckled and shook what he hoped was only mud off his hands; “Alright, come on,” He crawled over to a tunnel that seemed to slope upward beneath the glow of his flashlight, grumbled about the bites he’d received and pushed his shovel on ahead of himself.

Dean cursed under his breath, gave the tunnel Bailey Morgan had disappeared down the finger and followed his brother.

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	2. Chapter 2

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TWO

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Twice they had to double back because they came upon chambers that had collapsed and once Dean had to wrench Sam back by his belt when a tunnel started to collapse with them in it.

Sam had to sit with his head between his knees, struggling to breathe for almost ten minutes before they could move on. “I’m fine,” He said in a hiss, fingers laced behind his head, eyes squeezed closed. “Get off me.”

Dean crabwalked a few feet away and sat, flashlight trained on his brother, sweat sticking in the small of his back and the bends of his knees, beading on his brow. “You just gotta breathe—yeah it smells like gnome shit down here, but for a fuckin burrow—“

“Shut up,” Sam snapped, pressed his knees up to his ears and tried to crush away the tightness in his chest.

Dean didn’t say another word.

Sam started mumbling to himself a while later as they pressed onward down yet another tunnel, the ground sloping sharply downward so much Dean went feet first in a slippery muddy slide to the next junction, shined his light back and forth and told Sam to pick a number between one five. This, Sam truly believed, was one of the absolute dumbest things they’d done. “Why? Just—just find one that goes up hill and let’s get OUT OF HERE before the whole fucking thing comes down on our heads,” His left wrist gave a sharp twinge and Sam shook his hand out, muttering; “When we see Bailey again I’m gonna—“

Dean turned the flashlight toward him with an amused snort and the tunnel between them abruptly gave way with a sound like a tree snapping in half and five tons of earth dropping from a fantastic height.

Sam scrambled backward in shock, wet clots of dirt falling onto him, slapping into his eyes and mouth like blood splatter and he found himself in complete and utter darkness surrounded by the gasp of his own breath and the quiet distant pops of the earth readying itself to collapse on him.

“DEAN!”

His voice didn’t even travel far enough to echo, just bounced off the walls around him right back into his face.

“DEAN!” He dug frantically in his pockets and found his penlight, cursed and hissed as his muddy cramped fingers fumbled with it for an eternal fifteen seconds before it came on.

The walls were so close, wet and jagged. Shadows lurked behind every root and stone, around every bend and dip in the tunnels around him, jumped and twisted and breathed with a life all their own. The air was hot and smelled of mud and feces and his own stale breath.

It was a hole in the ground, some good fifty or more feet below the surface, it was raining and Sam didn’t know where he was, which way was up or if his brother was alive or dead.

His ears strained picking out each little pop of stone and tree roots above and around him, the distant whumps of the earth shifting, sudden breezes as more of the passageways around him collapsed.

Sam couldn’t breathe. He was trapped in a space so small his feet were against one wall, his head and shoulders the other and his knees were up around his ears. It was like being in a spin cycle, nausea worked up his throat, boiled the contents of his stomach and every little whisper of sound he made was amplified to the point of thunder in his ears.

He screamed back at it because at the moment it seemed like a good thing to do, maybe Bailey would hear him. Maybe the gnomes would hear him and come to check out the noise, inadvertently lead him to the surface.

He closed his eyes tightly, squeezed his light in both hands so hard they shook and forced himself to breathe, forced himself not to choke on the stink of the air.

Think. Think, Sam… Notes… yes, notes, he’d make notes about this when they got back to the car. He’d scribble everything down in a notebook then type it up carefully and neatly. Add it to the growing document he was calling his own journal.

Bailey Morgan had given him enough information to start with and he’d observed enough to continue the entry.

He heard himself talking, found a comfort in the rhythm of it, a distraction from the sting and burn of the bites on his body and the fear growing in his chest that Dean was dead and he was trapped for the rest of his abbreviated life.

“Burrowing Gnomes are like rats... They seem to innately sense when one of their tunnels or chambers is saturated to the point of collapse. Observe them closely. If they flee, follow suit,” He swallowed, worked his tongue over his lips and choked on the taste of mud. His voice shook; “Female Burrowers care little for their young but will protect their fellows. They seem to have little to no concern for the adult males unless for breeding purposes or protection. They are outnumbered at least twenty to one by the males, suggesting Queen Bee like Matriarchal behavior… Female young are probably rejected unless an adult female dies… or perhaps the females abandon their place of birth and start their own hives—“

“Sam?”

The sound was hushed, muffled through the earth, but that was Dean’s voice.

Sam’s throat closed off and he choked, his body jerked back, head knocking into the wall behind him before his body unclenched and he sucked in a spasmodic breath.

“SAM, WHERE ARE YOU!”

The sound seemed to come from behind him, through the wall. “Dean? DEAN!”

“Hey—Sam, are you alright?”

He snorted, “Just get me the fuck out of here!”

“OK… uh—You hurt?”

“No.”

“Good… Can you move?”

Sam wiggled around and got to his hands and knees. “Yeah… Where are you?”

“There’s another passage up here… Took me a while to find it. Morgan was right, all the tunnels are interconnected… Just—Just hold on… Back up as far as you can. “

Sam shuffled back and pressed himself to the opposite wall, waiting —“Okay!”

There were a few muffled grunts and then Sam saw the wall he’d been leaning against beginning to shift. The next thing he knew Dean’s right foot came through—Quickly withdrew and was replaced by his hands.

The air that rushed through the hole was cooler, smelled vaguely like smoke and Sam crawled forward, looked up into his brother’s muddy face in relief and mild annoyance then began carving at the hole with his shovel.

It was a tight fit but Sam managed to squeeze through and sat there in the hole stretching his legs for a few minutes before he nodded to his brother and they started off again. His head was still spinning and a sick ache was building behind his eyes but he didn’t mention it, chocked it up to the stale smoky air and the heat and continued on.

More than once they had to stop, reaching a cave in and wiggle around in the increasingly smaller passageways until they’d got turned around.

Dean checked his watch and grumbled something about hurrying up he wanted to catch the dinner special at that diner in town. Sam grimaced and pushed aside a few dead gnomes as he continued on. It wasn’t any more than fifteen minutes later that he noticed something strange about the beam of his flashlight and stopped rather abruptly to shine it back and forth and pound it against his thigh.

“What’s the hold up?” Dean called from behind him. “I really don’t wanna stick around here any longer than we already have, Sam. I’m covered in gnome shit and almost had a fuckin’ tree fall on me… I am DONE with this place.”

Sam blinked a few times, shook his head and shined the light on his own face. “I…”

There were rainbows twinkling in the corners of his vision and a strange sweet taste in the back of his throat.

“Sam?”

“I think I’m hallucinating.”

“Shit…” Dean shuffled around and Sam felt a touch on his hip—his skin tingled and all the little hairs on his body stood on end. His heart jumped erratically in his chest and the earth seemed to shift and roll beneath him.

“Sammy, come on… You alright?”

Sam swallowed against the sweet in his throat; “You—you remember that month we spent in Florida when I was thirteen?”

Dean hesitated, brain spinning as he rolled back years of memories. “Dad and me were going after that Swamp Spirit?”

“Yeah… an—an’ you were messin’ around with the landlord’s daughter —“

“Kimberly… yeah, I remember. Her uncle grew marijuana in their garage and you ate like half a pan of his special brownies while she and I were foolin’ around in her room?”

“I feel kinda like that.”

“Ah, okay… Just—just keep me posted… in the meantime, start crawlin’.”

Sam cleared his throat and pushed onward. “What if I got bit by one of the females?”

“Don’t worry about it, just keep crawlin’. We’ll get out of here and—and go see Bailey’s sister. She’ll fix us up.”

Twenty minutes later they were still crawling, seemingly forgotten amid the mud and excrement and dead gnomes. A few times they had to stop and deal with some of the males lost in their own tunnels and Dean had been aware of the ever growing scent of smoke and burning flesh for a while. He didn’t think much of it until Sam stopped, sagged forward onto his elbows and started retching.

He couldn’t do anything about it, grimaced because he’d have to crawl through it and wrapped his hand around Sam’s nearest ankle. The skin beneath Sam’s sock was burning to the touch and Dean could see tears and blood stains in the denim of his brother’s jeans.

“Sammy, you gotta keep goin’ I can’t drag your ass outta here, man.”

“Gimmie ‘minnut,” His voice was thin, almost choked and Dean could tell that this had reached the point that Sam’s judgement could no longer be trusted.

Dean cursed under his breath and peered down one tunnel then the other, coughed from the smoke in the air and pushed against Sam’s backside; “Come on. Move it!”

“I AM,” Sam said stubbornly, but didn’t move.

Dean ground his teeth and pushed until Sam got the message and started forward again. “There’s room up there… I can see daylight, get GOIN!”

The chamber roof was a large rock hugged tightly by gnarled tree roots. There was water dripping from the walls, but it looked stable enough not to collapse on them any second and there was an air vent high on the opposite wall between two roots.

A few male gnomes were running around frantically trying to crawl up the muddy slope and escape, one of them dragging a dead female behind him. Every so often he would pet at her twisted bloody face or wag his dick at her but she wouldn’t respond and he was too stupid to realize it was because half her head was missing… There was a swath of stained red flannel between her teeth and Dean cursed under his breath because it was the same pattern that Sam was wearing.

“Well, ain’t that a bitch,” Dean muttered, pulling Sam into a sitting position. His hands were filthy so there was no use in trying to treat his brother’s injuries here, not unless he wanted to make them worse, but at least he could know where they were.

Sam sat there leaned against the wall shivering and blinking lazily around while Dean pulled at his clothes. There were seven that Dean could see just on Sam’s arms. Crusted with drying blood and red amid the swelling, but one on Sam’s left wrist had turned a bruised shade of purple and radiated heat like a little flame. Dean checked himself over quickly and although he had been bitten in more places none of them were reacting like that. He whistled under his breath and gave Sam’s shoulder a shake; “Come on, it’s your lucky day, Sam.”

He grunted and blinked a few times to clear his vision and when Dean hefted him to his feet he stood there swaying drunkenly, eyes open wide, pupils dilated and waited while Dean dispatched the remaining gnomes in the chamber with them.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“That one was humping the dead girl one…”

“I noticed that,” he let out a sigh and nudged Sam toward the air vent. “There’s the door.”

Sam shuffled over to it, left arm tucked to his chest and pushed his shovel through the hole. “I hope Bailey’s sister’s pretty.”

Dean snorted and watched as Sam wedged his arms through the hole and began pulling himself through. “Don’t waste your breath—“

Sam made a strained grunting noise and slid partway back through the hole, arms above his head—and lodged.

Dean stared, gave Sam a sharp smack on his uninjured hip and muttered,” Waitin’ on you, Sammy.”

Sam’s legs kicked at the air, shoes scratching and slipping on the muddy wall—and didn’t so much as move an inch.

“Dean?” His voice was muffled through the layers of dirt and tree roots but Dean could still hear him.

“Yeah?”

“I’m... I'm stuck.”

Dean scowled, bent and hooked his brother around the knees, pushing up with all his might… But Sam wouldn’t budge.

“It’s the r-roots!” Sam spluttered breathlessly. “I’m caught by—my shoulders, I—I can’t move!”

“Oh… oh this is just PERFECT!” Dean screamed behind him, Sam would have shouted back but it wouldn’t have done any good even if he’d been able to. He was wedged in tight and unless Dean found another way out or Bailey came back—unlikely—Sam Winchester was stuck in a hole in the ground like Winnie the fucking Pooh.

“De—Dean…” He wheezed; “Dean, get me outta here. I can’t—I can’t breathe,” He kicked at the wall, trying to find a foot hold, but all he ended up doing was wedging himself in further. “Dean, I’m serious, I can’t breathe!”

Dean could hear what Sam was saying well enough, he just didn’t know what to say back. Sam was obviously breathing, but just like he had in after the special brownies, Sam was not reacting well to the chemicals in his system. Unlike then Dean couldn’t grab his brother by the shoulders now and look him in the face, couldn’t reassure Sam by giving him something else to focus on. He had nothing but Sam’s lower half and flailing legs. He didn’t even know how the fever was affecting him at that moment other than the heat of his skin.

“Dean? Aw, shit—SHIT! Dean, my hand—Dude, you—my hand’s all black!”

“You’re hallucinating, Sam!” He tried to get closer, almost got kicked in the head and decided to wait until the flailing had stopped. “Your hand’s fine. It’ll take longer than that for it to rot off.”

“It—It’s black—and there’s pus. There’s PUS, Dean!”

“Calm down… Of course there’s pus, we’ve been crawlin’ through gnome shit for the last four hours. Their bite causes infection. You know that.”

“Dean, I can’t—I can’t lose my left hand… I jerk off with my left hand, man!”

“I know that, now just calm the fuck down!”

But Sam wasn’t calming down.

Dean grabbed him by the belt and pulled. “Hold still, I’ll get you out!”

Sam choked and kicked at him, “STOP! STOPSTOPSTOP! FUCK, Dean that HURTS!”

He staggered back with a sigh and after a moment of consideration, blinking the sting of smoke from his eyes, Dean hooked his hands in Sam’s back pockets and gave his brother’s hips a shake; “You’re alright, Sam… I promise, you’re alright.”

“I can’t BREATHE and my hand’s rotting off!”

Dean sighed deeply and bowed his head against the back of Sam’s thigh; “Sam, it’s going to take longer than four hours for your hand to rot off. You’ve just gotta calm down and help me get you unstuck.”

“Fuck you!”

“Sam—”

“I’m stuck in your hole!”

Dean flushed, shook his head and formed his palms against Sam’s hips; “You’re stuck in my what?”

“HOLE! Your HOLE! I’m—I’m fuckin’ IN IT and I’m STUCK!”

“You’re hallucinating and you’re not making any sense!”

“If you put a fu- a doily on my ass and set candles on me I’m—I’m gonna—I’m not a shelf, Dean. Don’t use my ass as a shelf.”

“What the Hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Pooh…”

“Poop?” Dean jerked his hands back and stepped away; “You gotta… you gotta go, Sam?”

“POOH! Winnie the Pooh! I am Winnie the Fuckin’ Pooh!”

Dean burst out laughing.

“I’m not fat, I swear I’m not fat. I’m not stuck cause I’m fat—”

“You’re not fat, Sammy, calm down. You’re just—just oversized.”

Sam kicked him in the thigh and Dean stumbled back, “You better be glad you didn’t get me in the nuts… You’d be high and dry for a month if you had!”

“Get me outta here!”

“Just calm the fuck down or I swear I’ll beat your ass red!”

Sam stopped kicking and just sort of hung there like a frog with his shirt hiked up.

“Look, Sam… Can’t you dig yourself out?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I can’t reach the shovel,” He tried anyway, grabbing at it and spitting rain as it dripped into his mouth but he was about six inches from being able to reach it. “Please—please, get me outta here, Dean. Jesus Christ, I can’t—I can’t BREATHE!”

He could feel Sam’s heart racing, could hear the ragged gasps that tore in and out of his throat, could imagine how Sam was darting his gaze back and forth frantic and in pain and scared, unable to trust what his eyes were seeing and what his senses were telling him. “Sam —SAM, I want you to focus on my voice, OK? Can you hear me?”

“Dean—Dean, get—get me outta here—Oh, Jesus, get me outta here—“ His breath hitched and came out on a sob and Dean acted on instinct, hands sliding up and finding skin, rubbing slow deep circles.

“Easy… take it easy. You—you’ll be OK. Just relax, we’ll get you out you just gotta chill out.”

The heat of Sam’s skin was exquisite and Dean only belatedly realized the edges of his vision were cloudy, hazed with vague rainbow colors and a savage ache was building behind his eyes. “You’re gonna be alright.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“Why’re you gropin’ my ass?”

“It’s keepin’ you calm, isn’t it?”

Sam was quiet for a five count. “A little… my hand still hurts.”

“See? It’s OK.”

“Did one of those gnomes really try to stick its dick in your mouth?”

Dean let out a put upon sigh. “Sam—“

“D’joo bite it off?”

“No, it didn’t get… didn’t get IN there, I knocked it off me too quick, but it tried.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't leave me..."

"I won't... I promise."

"’feel sick.”

“I know… me too.”

Every so often Sam said his name again, or renewed his struggles and Dean had to grab him by the hips or press the flats of his palms into his flank to still him, murmuring through the increasingly thick smoke that it was OK, just relax, it’ll be OK, while at the same time he was becoming more and more worried that it wouldn’t be OK. That the smoke would suffocate him or the rock above their heads would fall and crush them both.

Dean silently cursed Bailey Morgan and vowed to punch the ugly fucker in the mouth the next time he saw him. A gnome or two came running in but Dean made short work of them with his pellet gun or stomped them should they get too close. Sometimes Sam flailed when the contact was broken, and shouted things that didn’t really make any sense. Sometimes he didn’t.

The tunnel they’d crawled through to get here started leaking water about an hour later and Dean didn’t dare traverse it again in search of another exit. His head felt too disconnected and whenever he broke contact with Sam his brother would shout or simply start screaming incoherently.

Once or twice Dean thought he heard someone talking, a hushed laugh, a groan, but he decided it was probably just Sam reacting to the fever and renewed the deep slow passes of his palms up and down Sam’s thighs and flank.

It seemed like hours but couldn’t have been any more than two when Dean became aware of the fact he was swaying gently, arms wrapped around Sam’s hips, face pressed into his back breathing through auditory hallucinations of rock music and a sensation like seasickness. He wasn’t sure what caused him to do it, but his fingers found their way under the waistband of Sam’s jeans, rubbing and tugging until he’d found his brother’s belt and slid it back through the loops. Sam said his name softly, barely audible and Dean coughed on the smoke in the air and lowered his cheek to the back of Sam’s right hip, just above the dimples even with his waistband, zipper grating, hand sliding in to press and feel the placid fact of his brother’s sex. “I could suck you off right now and you wouldn’t be able to stop me… Could go as slow as I want and you couldn’t pull my hair or anything.”

“Dean—“ Sam wriggled uncomfortably but didn’t ask him to stop.

“I could make you beg for it…” He rubbed himself shamelessly on the back of Sam’s leg and grinned; “I could fuck you and you wouldn’t be able to—“

Sam made a noise, hooked his heels at the back of Dean’s knees as if to hold him pressed tightly to him— and began wiggling in earnest, chanting his brother’s name in something like panic.

Dean didn’t realize what was going on until Sam’s legs squeezed him tightly and then jerked violently up and away. He almost fell face first into the floor, blinded by a high powered flashlight beam wreathed in shimmering Technicolor.

An arm appeared out of the light and Dean wondered vaguely if this was a memory of being born. He felt cold and wet and stupidly infantile as he was grasped under the arms and hauled bodily up through the hole and into a cold rain shower, legs pulled to his chest, hands curled into fists, eyes squeezed closed in denial of what was happening to him.

“Easy does it!” The voice echoed and whirled in a tornado of color off to Dean’s left, too loud and too high pitched and someone started swiping at his face roughly with a cloth. “You got the other one, Eugene?”

“Yeah, I got him!” This voice was low like thunder in the center of the earth. Like coffee and granite. 

Dean blinked through the brightness, could feel his pupils expanding and contracting rapidly and closed them again the impression of frizzy brown hair in a yellow rain coat and a wide plump face with too much makeup burned onto the back of his eyes. He turned his head and called out for Sam, groping blindly for his brother but after that things were hazy. There were moments, like still photographs laid out in order on a tabletop. The frizzy head in the yellow raincoat tucked under his left arm, half supporting his weight, cooing that he needed to actually MOVE his feet to walk. There’s a good boy. Bailey Morgan's soot and mud streaked face to his right, mouth set in a grim line, scratches on his cheek and bites on his remaining arm.

There was a mountain of a man with a bald head bending over Sam's limp form, wrapping something white around his wrist.

Sam's face was gray pale and streaked with mud. It was caked in his hair and behind his ears, in the shallow lines of his face. He was so still, waxy and false looking.

Dean's knees gave out and his vision shrank into pinpricks.

"Oh, no you don't... You lazy suzzbitch," Someone was smacking him in the face kind of roughly. Dean didn't like that very much, felt his mouth drop open and pull in great gulps of air.

"Come on, don't pass out on me now... Jesus, you gonna faint like a girl too? Not bad enough he rides you like one, you gotta go all Scarlett O'Hara and fuckin' swoon?"

Dean snarled and a little bit of sensation crept back into his extremities.

"There ya go, Princess, wakey-wakey!" Bailey was pushing at his hair, gripping where it was longer near his brow and giving him little insistent shakes. He laughed but it sounded forced; "Aw, look at that, needs a bow... Wouldn't he look all perddy with a nice big bow on his head?"

Dean cursed at him and when Bailey's fingers gripped him by the chin and shook him again he bared his teeth threateningly; "Fuck off."

"Woo-hoo, big words for such a little girl. No wonder he likes you... Always liked 'em feisty myself, but he is a tall drink 'a water idn't he... Think he'd mind if I took a peek? Not every day I come across a young piece like the two of you... Look at him, all quiet and helpless... He ever let you in there? Wrap those long legs of his around you?" He chuckled, "If he's good to me I can be real good too—"

Bailey's face was grinning, but it didn't meet his eyes and he looked somehow relieved when Dean struggled against him and pushed back to his feet.

Dean's knees felt rubbery and his ankles were numb but he was mad enough to keep himself upright, mad enough to force himself to breathe and take a swing at Bailey's nose.

The frizzy brown head in the yellow coat squawked and caught him around the chest but Bailey shouted something at her and cupped a palmful of blood away from his nose. "Got him on his feet, didn't it?"

The frizzy head growled; 'Moron,' and hooked Dean's arm around its neck again.

"Jesus, Bailey, you're one dumb piece of shit, you know that?" The bald man was hefting Sam up like he weighed nothing at all, shifting Sam's body over his shoulders like he'd done this before. "You better be glad he's too out of it to hear you or he'd drive you into the ground like a fuckin' railroad spike!" He had one big hand on the seat of Sam’s pants, the other on a flashlight.

"Hafta keep him awake somehow, she can't carry him and I'm 'bout thirty minutes away from bein' in that shape myself... Come on," He pushed his chin forward and started quickly down the trail.

The sky was growing darker by the second and the trees cast eerie shadows over the world. Sam was mumbling, eyes closed, expression dim and pinched, pale with bright red patches high on his cheeks. Every so often his hands twitched or he would grimace but other than that he was still and limp over the strange man’s shoulder.

Dean watched, felt a fire of protectiveness and concern burning hot in his veins when the big guy had to stop and bodily support Sam while he threw up. How his little brother hung like a piece of knotted string over the man’s arms and Bailey Morgan stood nearby, swaying slightly with his headlamp trained on them, face pale.

“Hey,” Dean remembered the words tasted funny on his tongue; “Sam —Sammy—Jesus, don’t—Oh, Christ, Sam,” He struggled with the yellow fuzzy blur propping him up and reached for his brother.

The big guy looked up at him sympathetically and to Dean it looked like he had an extra set of limbs and a few extra eyes, maybe a nice tiara instead of the wrinkles on his brow as he scooped Sam up again and continued walking.

Dean’s world consisted only of his brother. Sam’s shirt riding up his back, the knobs of his spine and ribs, the bruised inflamed bite on his wrist, how his fingers and hand were swollen beneath the splint someone had wrapped around his wrist. Dean watched rain drip from his brother’s hair, fine tremors wracking his large frame and felt sicker by the moment.

Everything came to an abrupt halt though when his legs gave out and down he went with a grunt in the leaves barely thirty feet from the parking lot where the Impala was waiting by Bailey’s truck and an old brown Jeep with a collection of colorful bumper-stickers in the back glass.

Dean was aware of the sound of his own heart beating, gray blots of rain clouds as the frizzy head in the yellow coat turned him onto his back and began smacking roughly at his cheeks, Bailey’s voice cursing at him, saying things Dean couldn’t exactly understand at the moment… the taste of half-digested tacos and bile, shouts of alarm and rough hands—

Blackness…

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	3. Chapter 3

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THREE

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“Ouch… OH-OW! WOMAN are you tryin’ to kill me!”

“Will you shut your mouth you big baby!”

“Damned thing almost took off my arm! You expect me to be still?”

“It’s a little scratch! That boy over there got bit twice as many times as you and he hasn’t so much as peeped!”

“That’s ‘cause he had a bad reaction—you know I’m damned near ‘immune to those little bastards after that mess of ‘em in Mason County—OUCH!”

“Hush!”

Dean had a sour, disgusting taste in the back of his throat, he worked his tongue against his teeth, using the bitterness as an anchor to pull himself out of the dark. His eyes felt glued shut, but he pried them open with the force of his sheer stubbornness. He was lying on his side half on a sofa patterned with roses and brown piping that smelled vaguely of dog and coffee and half on cushions stacked on a coffee table that had been pulled over to support his legs. It was still raining and if he turned his head a little to the left he could see into the kitchen, all rust orange and olive green with an off white pedestal table and matching chairs. 

Bailey Morgan was sitting in one in nothing but his underpants while a plump little woman with wild brown hair rubbed iodine mercilessly into bruised, crusty looking bite marks on his arms and legs. They were scowling at one another with such intensity that Dean knew without even asking that this was Bailey’s sister. 

A toilet flushed off to Dean’s right and he flicked his eyes in that direction in time to see the Big Guy, ‘Eugene’ duck out of the hallway rubbing his big dark hands on his t-shirt. “You complain too much, Bailey.”

“You try gettin’ bit by one of them damned things and not to squeal.” 

Eugene wrinkled his nose; “I’m surprised your fat ass got down those tunnels. I told you not to go after ‘em, that the rain’d take care of ‘em… But did you listen?” 

Bailey sneered and exposed his crooked teeth, then lifted his bandaged middle finger. Eugene just shook his head and tilted his gaze, ending the conversation. He spoke in a softer voice to Bailey’s sister; “You checked on the other one?”

She didn’t even look up from what she was doing; “He’s still sleeping. Doc said the anesthetic would take a while to wear off.” 

Bailey let out an aborted squall of pain when his sister tied the gauze a bit tight and sat there pouting and rubbing his stump as she turned away from him to wash her hands at the sink. 

Dean tried to feign unconsciousness but Eugene had seen him and nudged the couch with his knee. “Come on, tough guy.”

Dean looked up at him dazedly. He hadn’t known it was possible for a person to be much taller than Sam, but this guy outreached him by a good four inches. 

Eugene nodded toward the bathroom. “Your turn.” 

The bathroom was small but well stocked, complete with his and Sam’s duffels sitting outside. Under Bailey’s sister’s prompting he showered and scrubbed with antibacterial soaps, rinsed his wounds and came out in only his underwear, shivering and trying to ignore the rainbow hues twinkling in his vision and the stuffed cotton feel of his head. 

Dean felt cramped and sore and light headed but managed to make it into the kitchen just as Bailey was shuffling out, jeans unzipped, quickly buttoning his shirt with three fingers. 

Dean had experienced his share of back room surgeries before. But this one, although ugly, was probably one of the most sterile. Bailey’s sister was clinical and precise. She ordered him in a detached, nurse-like voice to bend over the counter, then jerked the back of his boxers down long enough to swipe him with alcohol and stab a needle into the fleshy portion of his hip. Belatedly she announced: “Hope you’re not allergic to penicillin.” 

Dean rubbed the spot dejectedly and pretended the pink in his cheeks was from fever not embarrassment.

She scrubbed deeply with a saline solution then daubed iodine on all the bites, made him swallow pills from economy-sized bottles she had lined up on her countertop like a normal person would line up canisters of flour and sugar. She huffed in amusement when Dean complained under his breath at the rough treatment and pointed him toward the bedroom. “You got off easy, sweet-cheeks. Your brother’s in there. He’ll be fine, just needs to sleep it off. Lucky we got him to the Doc when we did or it could have been ugly.”

Dean swallowed nervously and gathered up his clothing, limping a little because now his buttcheek ached from the shot and all the bites on his body burned and throbbed. If he’d had a tail it would have been tucked between his legs.

Sam was lying propped up on a small bed in the corner of the back room under an ancient, frilled blanket. He smelled of disinfectant and sweat and there were too many bandages for Dean’s liking, but he seemed to be resting not fighting the medicine they’d given him. 

Dean waited until Bailey’s sister had left the room before he picked at the bandages on Sam’s wrist and peered down at the wound. It was heavily bruised and ugly but carefully stitched where the doctor had removed dead tissue and as long as there was no secondary infection the scar would be minimal considering.

They spent only one night in the house, long enough to hear the rhythmic crunch of bedsprings and moaning from Eugene and Bailey’s sister going at it in the upstairs bedroom and endure the awkward silence over greasy bacon and eggs for breakfast the next morning, then Sam and Dean left as quickly as they could. Dean packed the Impala and they headed toward South Dakota. 

They took a hotel room halfway there because apparently they weren’t in England and driving on the left hand side of the road was considered illegal. Not that much in Dean and Sam’s life was legal per say. But, Dean decided it would be safer, and more convenient to sleep in off in a bed, not crumpled, dead, and twisted in a ditch somewhere. Priorities, he said to Sam’s dazed expression. He had priorities.

Sam rolled under the blankets immediately, still out of it from the fever and anesthesia, Dean stood over him for a long while, swaying on his feet, one boot off, one still on, his shirt half buttoned and his jeans unzipped. 

Sam blinked at him, sighed and pulled the blankets back then feigned indifference until Dean had undressed and pressed in close to his back. 

They slept for fifteen hours before Bobby called and asked what the hell had happened. Sam told him, still drowsy, that they’d taken care of the gnome burrow and were sleeping off the venom in a hotel about three hours away, not to worry that they would see him tomorrow. 

Dean mumbled something about having a headache and took the phone away, slithered his right arm under Sam’s torso and constricted him like a boa, prickly jaw pressed between his shoulder blades. 

Sam whined audibly and arched away, “Stoppit.”

Dean just nuzzled in further, wedging his hips in against the curve of his brother’s backside, rumbling low in his throat as one hand slid toward Sam’s waistband. 

Sam put up a token protest, just for the principle of the thing, but pushed into the rasp of Dean’s palm all the same. 

Dean wasn’t making a particular effort of it, just something lazy and almost mindless, not with any goal in mind, just feeling good. Sam on the other hand, woke statistically faster than his brother when danger was not involved and ideas were already starting to form. 

“Dean?” The sound was rough, tinged with sleep and lust. 

“Hmm?” He grinned into the curve of Sam’s spine. 

He pushed back against the lump in Dean’s boxers and the hand pulling at his dick tightened. “You gonna do something about that, or should I?”

Dean growled and scraped his teeth along the crest of Sam’s shoulder, seeming to slither snakelike until he’d got one leg thrown over Sam’ hip and the length of him fit into the cleft of Sam’s backside. 

It hadn’t come up, no-pun-intended, in conversation—not that they actually HAD conversations about this THING between them— but Dean had never tried to get at Sam’s ass. That’s just the way things happened and they didn’t discuss it, or even think twice about it. Why would they? Dean had only ever really TALKED about that ITCH he got sometimes once, back when this whole THING had started after Jessica’s death. 

Actually, the whole Thing could be traced back to that confession, because Dean had talked about having sex in truck stop bathrooms, in alleyways behind bars, or the back seats of stolen cars. He had snorted, wondered if maybe he couldn’t write some kind of poem with that, but thought that the fact of it wasn’t exactly poetic enough itself to be worth it. He’d bragged to Sam that sometimes the guy he was with offered to give him a handjob afterward.

And Sam—Sam had forced him to realize that being proud of the ‘sometimes, after their finished’ wasn’t as awesome as Dean had thought it was.

It had taken about six months after that for Dean’s ITCH to return, but he’d been too ashamed to do anything about it but fantasize with his fingers in the shower. Sam hadn’t touched him until after the incident with Roy’s wife and the reapers. Dean had spent about two weeks after that case, drunk and drowning in self-pity, until Sam had touched him—made him feel alive again. 

It had never been weird, which Dean thought maybe WAS weird. Waking up with your brother’s morning wood rubbing up against your still slick asshole should be weird… but it wasn’t. It had just felt… It felt safe. Sam wouldn’t use him, Sam wouldn’t leave him hanging. And neither of them would have to make excuses to skedaddle the next morning, or after the deed was done. 

It WORKED, and Dean had never questioned it—Until now.

“Dean,” Sam pushed his hips back again, insistently, greedily. “Come on, man. Earth to Dickhead!”

Dean grunted; “Huh?”

“Are you gonna do it or not?”

Dean stuttered his rhythm; “Bailey’s sister gave me a shot of penicillin right to the ass. You gotta be easy—“

“No.”

“Don’t get all Drill Sergeant on me now. My ass hurts, you’re still sick—It’s a miracle you can even get it up. You’re gonna be easy with me, got it—“

Sam let out an exasperated noise and shifted his legs against the mattress, left sliding back to hook his ankle and foot at the slope of Dean’s calf. He reached back, caught Dean’s hip with his uninjured hand and rocked his pelvis hard, letting Dean’s dick sink a little deeper into the crease of his ass. “Come ON.”

Dean’s hips stilled, nose pressed into the nape of Sam’s neck. 

They’d never talked about this. Dean had never really considered that maybe, perhaps—Sam wanted dick as badly as he did sometimes. Dean had fantasized, show him a guy who hadn’t, but he hadn’t done it. Yeah, he liked lying back and watching women ride him, liked seeing himself moving in and out while they bounced—he’d just never tried it with a guy. Why would he when he could be spread out like a Vegas All-You-Can-Eat or rolled up like a burrito under the force of Sam’s hips? Besides, some chicks got into anal, so it wasn’t like he was missing anything, right?

Sam pushed back again, dug his nails into Dean’s hip and breathed out his name like a command; “Dean.” 

“Uh—“ He swiped his tongue over his lips, tasted left over antiseptic and salt from Sam’s skin; “Sammy, I— You sure you don’t want—“

Sam snarled and started pulling at the waistband of Dean’s shorts, “Gettem’ off.”

“Dude—lube’s in the car.”

“’s in my fuckin’ bag where it always is!” 

Dean stumbled out of the bed, genitals caught over the top of his waistband and practically upended Sam’s backpack on the other bed. It was a generic tube, nothing fancy. The ‘warming touch’ bullshit burned like hell, and that stuff he’d bought online, made specifically for anal numbed a little and he didn’t like it. He wanted to FEEL it, thank you very much. 

Sam grunted from the bed, kicking frantically at the sheets until he got his obscenely long legs free, all long muscles and protruding ankle bones. There were patches of gauze on his shins a few on his outer thighs, but they were clean so Dean didn’t worry, just stood back and watched Sam work his boxerbriefs off one handed. His hips arching up off the bed, cock jutting up—sagging a little to the side under its own weight as Sam shifted his body left and right to get his clothes off. 

Dean could see the pale skin on the inner portions of Sam’s thighs, there were a few marks—mostly faded silver things from the years he’d grown too quick for his skin. A few others from hunting accidents, one or two still kind of pink, deliberate lines Dean didn’t let himself dwell on. In this life you couldn’t condemn a man for how he coped. 

“You’re just gonna stand there?” Sam said, wagging his knee back and forth, bandaged hand folded to his chest, uninjured one cupping his balls out of the way; “I wanna say I’d start without you but that just defeats the purpose…” He paused, blinked and tilted his head against the pillow; “You OK? You’ve got this deer in the headlights look on your face.” 

Dean swallowed, eyes locked on the wedge of skin behind his brother’s testicles—felt the near overwhelming desire to fold Sam up and run his tongue over it. Drink in the concentrated scent of his arousal and bathe in the wine sweet sounds of ecstasy he could drain from that smart mouth.

“C’mon, you were all for it earlier… What was it you said; ‘I could fuck you and you wouldn’t be able to stop me’?” Sam gave himself a squeeze, worked his fingers against the jut of his sex; “Well, prove it.” 

Something heavy in Dean shifted and the next moment he was crawling onto the bed, on hands and knees looming over his brother. Watched the pupil of Sam’s eyes expand the longer Dean stared at them. The jump of his pulse in the side of his neck. “Don’t ask me to do this unless it’s somethin’ you really want. I’m OK with how things are now, I don’t need this—“

“Yeah?” Sam snarled, turned his hand and curled all five fingers around Dean’s genitals: pressed up with the heel of his palm and rubbed against the length of his erection; “Well, I do—You, you got no idea how hot that was earlier,” he pushed his face up and captured Dean’s mouth with his own, teeth pinching at his bottom lip—pulling until Dean followed him down. “—Finally getting you to crack? To TAKE—“ Sam shuddered and gave Dean’s balls a squeeze; “If you don’t do it right now, I’ll go find someone who will—“

Dean snarled against his lips and seemed to become a feral thing—His hands snapped up and caught Sam’s hair—PULLING— bending his neck back until his throat bowed up, exposed and open, adam’s apple bobbing desperately in an attempt to maintain his silence, mouth gaping open in search of air. 

Sam’s knees jackknifed, body pressing up with urgency, uninjured hand tightening against Dean’s crotch as if intending to take it for himself. The pain, though, just seemed to spur Dean on and the rough catch of his stubbled chin BURNED against Sam’s throat, teeth tracing the line of his shoulder and biting as though to draw blood. 

They’d never been the type for marking one another up. It was something people remembered. Bite marks and hickeys screamed SEX and if there was one thing that a person would always remember it was that the FBI agent and his partner were both covered in hickeys this morning when they weren’t last night.

That didn’t stop Dean from doing it though. That didn’t stop him from pressing the palm of his right hand over Sam’s throat, forefinger pulling at the corner of his mouth so he couldn’t hide the sound he made. Left hand digging into his brother’s hip and bruising the thin flesh molded over his hip—BITING because this was SAM, not some woman who would whimper and shove him away in shock because who did that? Who just fucking BIT someone and pinned them down like they intended to rip them open and EAT them? 

Sam squirmed, made a strangled desperate noise and pushed his neck up into the pressure of Dean’s palm. Shoved his uninjured hand between his brother’s legs and forced his middle finger as deep into Dean’s hole as he could without lube. It wasn’t far, but it got his point across.

Dean’s head snapped back on his neck, breath ripping into his lungs—eyes squeezed tight, he pushed back against Sam’s hand, relishing the burn of penetration, letting it spur him forward and away from the blooming O of teeth on Sam’s clavicle. 

He found the lube, half lost under Sam’s hip and popped it open, squeezed a line across the tips of his fingers and sought out the cleft of his brother’s body. 

Sam’s hole was flexing in anticipation, clenched tight when Dean stroked over it with all four fingers. Relaxed and tightened again when Dean grinned, and petted his fingers back across the furled texture of it between the thin smoothness of surrounding skin.

Sam made a low, uncontrollable noise in the back of his throat, a dumb clueless sound of pure pleasure.

“You’ve never let someone touch you here before, have you, Sammy?”

Dean could hear his heartbeat in his voice, a wavering of sound in Sam’s whine of eagerness at Dean’s unwitting discovery. It wasn’t that he hadn’t let anyone touch him there, it’s that they all took one look at his dick and didn’t bother asking. They just worked him up until he decided their kind of sex was better than no sex at all. “Not like that, no.” 

Dean’s grin was slow, eyes heavily lidded, something mischievous and full of dark, sweat filled, carnal intent. He spread his fingers against Sam’s rim, electrified, and watched the tendons of his inner thighs tighten in an effort to get his legs farther apart. 

“I think you’re gonna like it,” Dean pressed the pad of his thumb against the bud and pressed in—loved the resistance of flesh and muscle and the way Sam’s body fluttered and gave way to him. He didn’t push in completely, just enough to give Sam a taste of the stretch, enough that he could feel Dean’s hand moving, and the hungry roll of his hand. Enough to get Sam to consciously relax, dick twitching against his stomach, then he turned his hand and slid one slick finger in, rotated on the withdraw and did it again. 

Sam’s flesh clung to the digit, pressing in and out with the motion of his brother’s hand. Three or four repetitions and Dean pulled his hand free, curled his index finger under his middle one and went in for another try. 

This time, Sam’s conscious relaxation wasn’t enough and he could feel his body being stretched. It wasn’t uncomfortable, if anything he felt need bubbling in his stomach, the blood pulsing in his cock and the tingle of awakening nerves deep in his body where no one else had ever touched him. He’d done this to Dean, knew what it looked like—closed his eyes and imagined what his brother was seeing—the curl of excitement in his loins. He wanted this NOW, he didn’t want to wait—wanted to push IN and shove up against the resistance of muscle and the soft, billowy heat of his brother’s body. 

“C’mon, Dean—Hurry the fuck up!”

Dean snarled and jabbed his fingers up against Sam’s prostate, “Shut it—First time you did this to me you took twenty-minutes—I think you deserve a little fucking payback.” 

Sam’s dick bobbed with the impact, felt the itching pressure of the stimulation and nearly rocked his hips up off the bed. He’d fingered himself before, but there was only so much he could do on his own, the angle was awkward and usually all he could manage was one finger. He’d tried using something to aid his exploration, the butt end of a sharpie was perfect, gave him just the extra length to push down against and Dean never said anything about Sam keeping a marker in his toiletries case. And while Jess was moving in with him he’d stolen that tiny bullet sized vibrator of hers, and wound up having to hide an ER visit while she was in class when the damned little thing slipped from between his fingers and became lost up there. He’d feigned ignorance when she’d searched the place for it a few days later and been unable to find it, said it must have become lost in the move. Having someone else there—having Dean ram the pads of his fingers up against his prostate was life changing. 

Dean grinned at him, leaned forward and pressed the tips of his teeth to Sam’s protruding hipbone, left another mark and pulled his head away before Sam could smack him, hummed and nuzzled into the long, subtle curve of his dick—

“I swear to fuck—Dean, if you put teeth on my dick I’m gonna kick you in the neck—“

He looked up the length of Sam’s body, fingers insistently moving in and out—and met his eyes impudently, free hand dragging its nails up the plain of Sam’s flank and curling against the curvature of his spine, pulling him closer. He flashed his teeth, impishly and Sam tensed, jaw tightening—asshole clenching down on his thrusting fingers—

Dean chuckled, voice pitched low in desire and pressed a deliberately gentle kiss to the side of the shaft. The next second he’d tilted his head and nosed into the loose flesh between Sam’s balls with a rumbling purr, twisted his hand and popped a third finger past the tight ring of his hole. 

Sam jolted, shocked at the abrupt, uncomfortable pressure, pressed his heels into the mattress—and instantly brought them down again when Dean rubbed up. He whined, tossed his head against the pillow and delved all five fingers of his uninjured hand into Dean’s hair and pulled, dragged his brother’s head up and pushed the flushed head of his dick against Dean’s stupid smirking mouth. 

Dean pulled his lips over his teeth and rolled out his tongue, let Sam make a few short thrusts with his glans against the velvet carpet of his mouth, then without warning, rocked his head forward against the tug of Sam’s fingers in his hair and took a few inches more, sucking in the plush bands of his lips and pushing up with the width of his tongue. 

Sam groaned, eyes fluttering closed, sweat beading on his brow and relished in the dual sensations of Dean on and in him. The firm spread of his brother’s fingers, stretching him open, and the burning clamp of his mouth, an all too eager bob of his head and hum from the channel of his throat. 

But Dean pulled back all too soon, fingers spread wide enough to actually hurt a little. Sam grimaced and tried to hold his brother down against his dick but Dean curled his blunt nails into the flesh of Sam’s back in warning and Sam released him, watched Dean’s reddened mouth flex open and closed, clever tongue swiping at the slick of precum and spit on his chin from Sam’s exit. 

Then his fingers withdrew and Sam felt momentarily bereft, an aching void between his legs—hold tingling and aching slightly from the stretch. It was new and slightly frightening because Sam had never felt loose down there before, but now he was, and watching Dean rock back to sit on his heels, flushed chest heaving, freckled cheeks ruddy from the heat and shimmering with a slick of sweat, His hands were shaking, squirted a little too much lube on his fingers and what he didn’t smear over his cock he swiped against his belly. 

Sam found himself staring at his brother’s erection, the rosy pink of his glans and the hint of blue veins beneath the tightly stretched skin. Dean’s head fell back on his neck and he jacked himself a few times, hips rocking against the curled tunnel of his fist. His balls were pulled up tight to his body, dark and heavy and Sam kind of wanted to put his mouth on them, loved the way Dean squirmed and moaned and squeezed himself to keep from coming when Sam went down on him. Loved watching the helpless O of Dean’s mouth stretch wide when Sam doubled him and buried his face in the core of him. 

Dean’s pupils were blown wide, body broad and powerful beneath the luxurious softness of his skin. He rolled up to his hands and knees, dick hanging heavy beneath him, and fitted himself between Sam’s long slim legs. He didn’t ask, knew Sam would say something if he’d changed his mind, knew Sam would kick and shove him away if he really, truly didn’t want it because Sam had never been exactly gentle with him. Not like he was with other people, people he didn’t know like he did Dean. He loved Dean, fucked him, but in the end they were still brothers, and neither of them had ever been the kind to spare a fist or a kick when the other deserved it, and that was just fine. 

Dean caught Sam by the back of the knees and shoved his legs up toward his ears, rubbed the length of himself against Sam’s slick hole and Sam’s eyes rolled back, hands reaching up to drag Dean down, lips and teeth and tongues mating—hips clashing once, twice before Dean found the strength to let Sam curl one leg across his shoulders and he could finally get a hand between them to train the bulk of his sex against Sam’s hole. 

Sam shuddered, relished in the firm press of Dean’s tip brushing teasingly against him, saw Dean’s eyes locked between them, could lift his head and watch to an extent, the action hidden behind the bulk of his genitals. He was nervous on some level—knew they both were because this was something different. This wasn’t Sam showing Dean what having sex with a man who cared about his pleasure was like. This wasn’t Dean teaching Sam how to give a blowjob correctly—they’d done those things—if badly—before this THING between them started. There had never been anything new until this. 

Dean had had sex with a man before, Sam had too. But Sam had never taken a dick before and Dean had never given it to a guy before, and that was something scary and wonderful and intimate in a way neither of them wanted to admit aloud. 

Dean lifted his head, eyes clear for a moment, he licked his lips again, tasted the salt of his own sweat; “It—uh—“ He swallowed nervously, shivered. “It burns—uh—yeah, it burns, but it shouldn’t HURT, yanno? I-if—“

Sam breathed in deeply, held it for a three count and exhaled. Dean pushed—there was a moment of resistance, nervousness and Dean’s girth—then Sam was opening up, accepting the slow slide ininin.

Dean’s head fell forward, watching, and Sam’s eyes closed, body stretching wide, he pulled with his heels against Dean’s back and groaned deep in his chest, hand curled tight around his erection, pulling slowly with each inch that sank into him. 

Dean muttered ‘Christ’ under his breath and rocked in and out a little, lifted his head and searched Sam’s face for any sign of pain. There was none. He shifted his hips side to side, working his knees farther apart to allow for more room to maneuver, curled his left arm around Sam’s knee, hand against his shin, an anchor, the right on his flank, drew his hips slowly back and pushed sharply forward in a shallow thrust. 

Sam’s lids twitched and he rubbed his fingertips up the underside of his penis, pressing them over his tip and down again. Squeezed with the power of his thighs and rocked his hips down into the next thrust— 

Dean tilted his hips back and popped up again at a sharp angle and in his head Sam heard a bell, like one of those referees hit at the beginning of a boxing match. His eyes flew wide, mouth open and his dick jerked hard in his hand, a throb of sharp pleasure ricocheting around his pelvis, up his spine and down into his legs. 

Dean grunted, chin to his chest; “There it is—“ Gave Sam’s awestruck face a Cheshire grin and set a slow, deep pace. 

Sam thought, maybe he could have handled it fast. It was always fast and rough and hard with Dean—Or at least, HE was always fast and rough and hard with Dean. Seeing his brother in charge was eye opening. 

Sam didn’t do slow. It had always been frantic and rough and full of NEED, a race to the finish line where both he and his partner collapsed messy and spent. He liked working his lovers up until they couldn’t stand it anymore and attacked like wild things—until they SNAPPED. It was a powerful feeling knowing you could push someone until they snapped like that.

Well, Dean had snapped alright, but not in the way Sam thought, because the way Dean was moving above and inside him wasn’t frantic or wild—it was goddamned sensual, luxurious—Dean wasn’t fucking him he was making love to him and Sam felt intimidated, frightened… and awed by it. Part of him wanted to tell Dean to stop—that THINGS had become weird—but another part, something curious and tender that responded only to Dean snarled and demanded he stay.

Sam watched, absorbed, and basked in the careful, timed shift of Dean’s weight—to and fro, in and out—The moments when Dean’s cock nudged up hard against his prostate where for half an instant Sam felt like he was on the cusp of orgasm, only for it to be drawn away with the backward swing of Dean’s hips. It was maddening and after a few minutes of it Sam found himself unable to stay still—Squirming on his brother’s cock in search of more stimulation—both hands lifting and drawing Dean down into a kiss, tongues sliding against one another, breath hot and full of soft grunts and groans of desire. 

Dean worked his lips into the dip of flesh behind Sam’s ear, caught the pad of his lobe and drew it in, played the tip of his tongue against it in a mimicry of fellatio and Sam’s eyes rolled back into his head, neck arching, toes curling. He moaned, throwing his damaged arm across Dean’s shoulders, free hand scratching down his back, dragging short nails through trails of sweat and over the powerful flex of muscle, curled against the tight cheek of Dean’s ass and pulled him forward just a little harder on the zenith of each thrust. 

Is this what all those women Dean slept with felt like? Cherished—WORSHIPED? Not ravaged and pummeled to climax but brought there by a gentle, loving hand?

Sam mouthed at Dean’s shoulder in an effort to silence himself but his voice had a mind of its own, low and breathy like a ghost in his lungs. “Fuuuuuck!” 

Dean’s hips stuttered but instead of picking up speed, maintained the slow carful rhythm he’d set, echoing Sam’s vocalizations, right hand starting to roam, thumb pressing into a nipple and dancing with it in firm circles. Delving up to Sam’s nape and tilting his head in the other direction so Dean could lave at the other side of his neck, lips tracing apologetically against the bite on his collarbone before drifting back to his mouth. 

The bed sighed beneath them, foundation making soft creaking noises as they moved. 

Dean’s hand raked down his stomach and Sam pushed up with an almost effeminate sounding whine, chin up—as his brother’s big calloused hand wrapped around his dick and started pumping in careful time with his thrusts. 

“Fuck—“ Sam snarled, words slurred. His mouth felt stupid, tongue loose and incapable of articulate speech. “Dean—f-faster.”

Dean did no such thing. 

“H-harder, c’mon!” He sucked in a ragged breath, back arching, mind wild with need for MORENOWRIGHTTHEFUCKNOW; “There! FUCK! Harderthererightthere!”

Dean’s hips popped up with a little more force, breath shuddering in his chest. He chuckled, groaned and lifted his head to peer down into Sam’s face. Watched the ruddy flush of his cheeks and chest grow with each passing second. 

Sam’s skin felt as if it were on fire and everywhere Dean touched him blazed hotter and yet extinguished the flame. He writhed, snarled and thrashed his head against the pillows, sent one flying and slapped his uninjured hand up against the headboard for leverage, pushed into each slap of skin on skin— Found himself focused on the pendulous weight of Dean’s balls against the globes of his ass, the sting of being held open, the ache of straining muscle still weak from the gnomes’ poison, the dry burn of air ripping into and out of his chest, and the slow, impossible build of pressure in his abdomen. “God—oh God,” Sam didn’t know, in that moment, if he would survive this. He wanted—NEEDED to come and Dean was so infuriatingly slow and tender and it felt amazing, good in ways fast hard fucking never did and Sam didn’t have the desire to shove his brother off and take control of the situation because he knew—he knew that he was building toward something magnificent. And suddenly he looked back on every time he’d taken his brother hard and fast and felt ashamed because as good as that felt, as hard as he’d been able to make Dean come, this was a whole different level. 

Sam tossed his head back and groaned, mouth and voice forming words, nonsensical sounds and increasingly higher whines for more, Jesus—Dean! Dean! Dean!

Soft whines and growls of Sam—fuck—Sam!

Sam felt his mind drifting into the sensations, colors and shapes dancing on the backs of his eyelids, body tingling as his nerves became hyper sensitive. His back ached, muscles trembling from movement and holding himself curled into Dean’s thrusts. He gasped and shoved hard against the headboard—heard it thud against the wall in his frustration and need and Dean’s hips snapped just a little harder against him for his effort, but it was enough and Sam’s fingers twisted—clapped into his hair and pulled. 

Dean cried out first, not because he was coming, but because of the expression that blossomed into existence across Sam’s flushed face. 

Sam’s pupils blew wide and his mouth fell open, slack and shocked, brows pulled down then arched up—He didn’t scream, the sound was too choked to be a scream—somewhere between pain and bliss Sam’s body pulled tight, curled in on himself, legs straining wider while Dean’s hips jumped upward deep and slow, dick shoving hard against his prostate. 

It started deep in his abdomen, something pulled tight—popped—his asshole spasmed rapidly, legs tightening, toes curled from the intensity—and everything rushed out—Pulsed and didn’t stop. Kept twitching and convulsing on the steady shoves of Dean’s cock inside him, and the quick jerks of his hand around Sam’s glans. His release sprang high, splattered across Dean’s fingers and caught him in the cheek—splashed down again and across Sam’s stomach. Over and over until he was dry and Sam couldn’t breathe—felt himself shaking all over and unable to do anything but whine and pull Dean closer and deeper and MORE—

Dean’s teeth snapped together and his rhythm stuttered—hips jerked deep, aim finally lost and Sam’s body shuddered in relief—felt Dean thrust three-four times quick—deep into Sam’s ass and hold, fine tremors up his legs, belly quivering—breath out on a startled sound like he’d been shot. 

Sam felt it—vaguely. Heat and at his rim the subtle pulse of orgasm through Dean’s base—rocked his hips and watched Dean’s face scrunch up in ecstasy, chin tilted skyward, chest and throat heaving for breath, adam’s apple bobbing to draw moisture back into his parched throat. Sweat sliding down his temple to drip against Sam’s heaving stomach. 

The air around Sam’s ears rang, his pulse pounded in his head and he collapsed slowly like some ancient construct. His joints felt rusted and his skin hot—slick and sticky from his release. 

He’d seen Dean go through this part of the process before, it wasn’t anything new in concept, but sitting on the toilet, cleaning himself up afterward wasn’t as simple as it had sounded. Sam felt sore, not chafed, thankfully, but tender and stretched out. Prodded around his hole with a curious finger while Dean cleaned up the bed and fetched the first-aid kit from the car. It felt irritated, inflamed, kind of like he had after the damned vibrator incident, though not nearly as humiliated. 

Sam was still sitting on the toilet when Dean came back, suffered an amused snort from his brother and displayed his middle finger for good measure. He let Dean change the bandaging on his hand and wrist and the one or two on his legs that had bled a little during their activities, and spent most of the rest of the evening dozing while dean watched some Sci-fi marathon on cable and polished off half a bag of licorice. 

Sam rolled over at one point and rested his head on Dean’s thigh, mellow and sated with the familiar scent of his brother’s cologne under his cheek. He woke hours later curled against Dean’s side, the TV was still on, volume so low it was more white noise than anything you could understand. He thought it was the old cartoon of the Hobbit, something he vaguely remembered watching as a kid, but not well enough to identify it with just a glance. 

“Sam?” Dean’s voice was barely above a whisper, not really intending to wake him up if he were still asleep, just enough to gauge if he were awake or not.

“Hmm?”

“So, you’re Pooh, right?”

Sam rolled his eyes closed; “Dean—“

“Bobby’s Gopher…”

Sam snorted; “Okay, I see where this is going.”

“I’m Tigger—“

Sam snorted derisively. “You’re the Rabbit. End of story.”

“I’m not the goddamned rabbit… I don’t do doilies.”

“Whatever. You’re so Rabbit—“

“Fuck you, I’d rather be that wussie Piglet—“

“You’re just as anal with your car as Rabbit is with his hole, ” Sam yawned into his pillow.

Dean spluttered; “I’m not Rabbit! That guy was a dick!”

Sam tilted his face toward Dean’s seriously; “You could also be Eeyore. You do have this tendency to roam around looking for tail.”

“Oh, now you’re just being mean.”

Sam grinned and settled down again.

After a moment, Dean bobbed his head to the side in consideration, “Okay, I could be Piglet… I did put the pork in you earlier.” 

0-0-0

0-0-0

0-0-0


End file.
